


Branded

by olliolli_oxenfree



Series: dapolyweek [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Assisted Suicide, Character Death, F/M, M/M, Multi, Rite of Tranquility, Suicide Attempt, anyone who thinks cullen's attraction to a female warden is, can meet me in the fucking pit, ~~~~~cute~~~~~
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 12:23:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8401519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olliolli_oxenfree/pseuds/olliolli_oxenfree
Summary: Day four of DA Poly Week:This world is an abomination.Duncan only has a one-in-six chance of visiting the Circle.The prompt is a pretty accurate summary.





	

“He looks _awful_.” Amell hummed in agreement. The three of them were already pale, half due to their natural tones and half due to their lack of sun, but Jowan had recently taken on a tint of grey. The circles under his eyes had purpled until they were almost black. Surana angled herself to watch Jowan sort through the tomes on a library shelf. “What’s he been up to?”

“Owain said he’d been in the chapel…” Amell’s face pulled into a grimace. “You don’t think he’s found the _Maker_ , do you?”

“About as much as I think you have,” she scoffed. Amell singing the Chant. That would be the day.

Jowan returned with three books under his arm, one for him and two for Amell. Amell flipped through both of them until he found the pages he was looking for and resumed scribbling his notes. Every few sentences he would stop and scan for another page in one or more of his seven open books. His stack of parchment rested on top of another two. When he finished with a sheet he would move it far enough to be out of the way of his next thought. Surana raised her own treatise to avoid ink splatter. One of Amell’s finished pages landed on Jowan’s book. Then a second, and a third, and the fourth brought Amell out of his frenzy.

“You’re not reading.”

“Huh?”

“You’re not…” Amell glanced to her for help. “Even when you _don’t_ read you get snappy if my stuff gets…” Amell placed a hand on Jowan’s knee. “Are you okay?” Jowan looked between Amell’s face and hand, as if startled by the contact.

“I’m fine.” His voice came out reedy.

Amell’s hand went from Jowan’s knee to shoulder. “If something’s happened—”

“No, no, nothing’s…! It’s not the Templars or anything, it’s…”

Surana changed places to rest her hand on his opposite shoulder. “Jowan…” Beneath her hold, she sensed a growing sob.

The First Enchanter entered the library, followed by Cullen. In an instant Surana was in the small space between Amell and Jowan. She bent her head low and regardless of her feelings toward the Maker prayed to Him for the Templar to overlook her white hair next to Amell and Jowan’s black. Two arms wrapped around her. Nothing could be done if the Templar ordered her away, but with the First Enchanter so near surely he wouldn’t…

“Young man,” Irving stood before them, a somber expression on his face as he spoke to Amell. Cullen stood a respectful distance away. “I must ask you to accompany me.” Amell threw an alarmed look at them before he stood to follow the First Enchanter. Irving keeping Amell with him was hardly odd, but coming to him out of the blue like this with a Templar escort instead of just sending a message…

“May I ask what this is about, First Enchanter?” Never let it be said a Templar presence made her bite her tongue.

Irving’s tone was apologetic. “I am afraid not, dear girl.”

Amell did as one could only do when the First Enchanter beckoned: he followed. Surana managed to get a squeeze from his fingers before he circled the table. Cullen peeked at her then, and even as Jowan’s arm around her shoulders drew tighter she straightened her spine and held his gaze. She would not be cowed.

Amell did not return that evening, nor was he back before lights-out when the Knight-Lieutenant made a count of the apprentices. Surana watched as she stood at attention by her bunk. The Knight-Lieutenant made no note of Amell’s absence. She slept fitfully, any Templar patrol outside or an apprentice turning on their mattress alerting her. It was well past midnight when the door opened. She faced away from the entrance and could only hope her ears snapping back hadn’t been noticed. There was the rumble of Irving’s voice, two sets of armored feet on the floor. The feet dragged… Were they carrying something? The steps retreated, crisper that time, Irving’s voice again, and the door closed.

Surana bolted upright. She peeked into Amell’s bed to be sure— _yes!_ —and lowered herself from the top bunk to pad over to Jowan. He awoke at her touch. She put a finger to her lips and pointed to Amell.

“Where was he, do you think?” Jowan whispered as they knelt by Amell’s side. His breathing was shallow and his skin clammy, but he was in the deepest sleep she’d ever seen.

“You don’t think…?”

“ _The Harrowing?_ ” Surana slapped her hand over Jowan’s mouth. Someone grunted and rolled over. “Sorry. But if that _was_ his Harrowing, and he’s passed…”

“He’s a mage. A proper mage.”

Jowan interlocked his fingers with Amell’s. “A proper mage…”

Morning roll call was taken and still Amell did not stir. “He _is_ fine, isn’t he?” Jowan pleaded. “They wouldn’t have brought him back if he wasn’t _fine_.” Surana chewed the inside of her lip. As much as she wanted to be at Amell’s side when he came to…

“I’ll go speak with the First Enchanter. He can’t be busy if Amell’s not there for tutoring.” Not necessarily true, but it was better than doing nothing. She tucked a strand of hair behind Amell’s ear before departing.

* * *

She was stuck in the closet Amell shoved her in for three hours. Despite her and her magic raging at the door, it remained solid. Of course. Furniture in the Circle was impervious to such silly things as fire. When a young apprentice finally let her out, she stormed off to find Amell.

She didn’t. He and Jowan were gone. The Knight-Lieutenant skipped their names during attendance and, when pressed, the other apprentices shook their heads. It occurred to her on the fourth day that between death and Aeonar, she hoped for death. Death was quicker. About a week after Jowan’s stunt Petra approached her.

“In the library downstairs. Amell—” Surana pushed by before she could say anymore.

Relief and outrage battled one another as she descended the curving steps. Relief that one of them was finally back with her, and outrage at their _sheer stupidity_ for thinking to destroy a phylactery. They both lost to apprehension when she saw him. At first, she wasn’t even sure it _was_ him. There was a book in his hand, yes, but it was the only one and the papers he wrote on were evenly stacked. His quill moved in brisk strokes across the top page but not a drop of ink was spilled. And his _hair_ …

Amell had always kept it as long as the Templars allowed. Now it was cut short to the base of his neck and evened around the sides. His hair was never very unruly, but whichever Templar cut it made it so perfectly symmetrical it was unnatural. Was that his punishment? Time in the dungeons and the Templars stripping him of one of the only personal freedoms the mages had? No wonder his heart was not in his reading.

“Amell?” Surana called softly, not wanting to frighten him.

There was no fright in him when he closed the book and set it down. No dazed blinking as he returned to the present from wherever his trance had taken him. No curiosity as he turned in the chair to face her, and the entire world stopped when she realized what they’d done to ensure he’d never disobey again.

“Yes?” He asked, the sunburst brand emblazoned on his forehead.

* * *

Wynne came back from Ostagar. When she found out what happened, she took Surana to one of the confessionals in the chapel. Privacy in which her tears could be shed.

“He passed his Harrowing,” she was not sure if it was an accusation or a question.

“I know, dear.”

That evening, she went through her own. She wondered halfway through if failing would really be so terrible. The demon mistook her weakness for an opening.

Despite herself, she kept visiting Amell. He was her best friend, the only one she had now. He told her what happened up until Jowan had fled. _Blood magic._ Worse yet was that Amell sounded puzzled by his own actions. As close as he could get to puzzled. He did not understand what had caused him to perform such deeds, and try as she might she could not answer. Just how did one explain emotion to a Tranquil?

“I do not understand why you come. It clearly causes you distress.”

“Do you remember distress?”

“No.”

“Then why do you care if I am?”

“I am easy to avoid. I do not understand why you go out of your way.”

_Because Jowan is gone. Because you cannot visit the Fade and I fear you will forget. Because we have both passed our Harrowing and here you stand and here I stand and we have never been more far apart._

“Because I miss you.”

She was in the dining hall when the screaming started. She dashed through the tower, dodging demons and abominations alike. It wasn’t until one had her cornered and she dispatched it with a fist made of stones from the floor that she remembered the Tranquil. Remembered _Amell_.

The Tranquil had been in the midst of their meal, too. “What is happening?” No fear, no concern.

“There are demons. You…here,” she picked up the bread knife and gave it to him. “Better than nothing.” His fingers curled past hers to grip the handle. As he did, she noticed the wave was starting to grow back into his hair. “Any longer and they’ll force you to cut it again,” she reached with her left hand to smooth it into place.

There were scars on his neck beneath his robes.

“When…did you get these?” She recalled her vigil over him after his Harrowing. There had been no marks on him then.

“Before the Rite of Tranquility.”

“You did this?”

“Yes. In the dungeon. They brought me my meal and…” he trailed off the way he did now when he could not remember. “I must have been very distressed.”

_Distressed._

Mages had two things they always discussed: which Templars to avoid at all costs, and what to do if they became Tranquil. Always, _always_ , unless an apprentice asked for the Rite instead of the Harrowing, they preferred death. “I couldn’t live like that,” Amell had croaked once, after a mutual friend of the three had undergone the Rite and they had sought comfort in the arms of the others. He was the first to speak, and if Surana didn’t know Amell never cried she would have expected to find tears when she stroked his cheek in the dark. “If that ever happened…”

_I’d want to die._

She took the knife from his hand. His eyes followed. No confusion, no reluctance. He just handed her back his only method of defense.

“Do you…want to know my name?” Her name was the stupidest thing she’d ever heard. Considering Jowan and Amell were her closest friends, that was a whole lot of stupid. The Revered Mother in the Chantry she’d been raised in had always suspected she would turn out to be a mage. Maybe her name was some way of ensuring she _knew_ she was one of the Maker’s hated children. Jowan didn’t care enough to ask when they met if Surana was her first or second name. To him, names weren’t important. Amell likely knew, simply based on how they were introduced.

No reaction.

“It’s Amara. Amara Surana.”

Two weeks ago, Amell would have done that _thing_. Where he sucked in a breath and held it for half a second too long before he released it all in a guffaw of mirth too loud and too long for the Templars to ignore. Before she could think to take the words back he would be up, calling for Jowan to share his source of delight. Now, he simply stared at her.

“I do not understand what this has to do with the situation.”

“I know,” she whispered. She stepped into what was once a warm embrace. Amell was already dead. She had been visiting a corpse. “I’m sorry.” Blood soaked her hand as she drove the knife into his side. His hands seized at her as she lowered them both to the ground. His breaths came in short, noisy gasps. She drew back to look at his face. Pain, but only a politely puzzled pain. “I’m sorry,” Surana said again.

* * *

News eventually came from a place called Redcliffe Village. Jowan had been found. When he was returned to the Circle, Surana made sure to be standing in the entrance. He lunged for her despite the Templars dragging him away. “Surana! Where’s Caedan? What happened to—”

She found First Enchanter Irving in his study. “Let me see him,” she begged. “Let me tell him. He has a right to know.”

“I am sorry, dear girl. It is in the Maker's hands, now.”

Jowan was sentenced to death. It was, she supposed each night she hid herself away in the confessional, quicker.

Love couldn’t exist in the Circle. Friendship could, though. Mages were brought up too closely to one another for anything else. Jowan she had known for twenty years, and Amell for twelve. She had studied with them, slept with them, and considered them each her dearest and closest friends. But she did not love them.

That was the worst of it.


End file.
